


Shift Man Shift

by therudestflower



Series: Shift Man Shift [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: All Human, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Gen, Identity, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Punk, Quite a bit of swearing, Self Esteem, Stiles and Isaac are angsty puppies, Stiles has a major crush on Isaac, The pack is in a band called Arsonistical, Very much AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-15
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-11-12 04:52:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therudestflower/pseuds/therudestflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The drummer of Arsonistical is a freaking god. A ten year plan will not do. Stiles wants to be his best friend, his boyfriend and his favorite person. Isaac doesn't mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nerve Jamming

Stiles is standing next to a girl with giant holes in her ears. It’s ten o’clock on a school night, and he’s standing next to a girl with giant holes in her ears and pink dreadlocks. This is not exactly his idea of an ideal night out. He’s decided that the dreadlock girl strangest looking person in The Den, but it’s a pretty heavy contest. He was expecting that. Erica told him was a punk show, so he watched SLC Punk twice to prepare.

So far no one has accused him of being a poser and no fights have broken out. It’s just a shoebox room with ragged flyers on the walls, and a bunch of oddly dressed people waiting for the band. There’s not even a stage, just a duct tape line on the ground.

He’s starting to wish he wasn’t here. Some guys behind him are talking about bands he’s never heard of, and he is sure any second someone is going to shout “What’s this loser doing here?” But Erica’s been bugging him to see her band for months. Which is composed of hot guys, at least according to her. Not that he’s there for the hot guys. He’s there to support his friend, and maybe admire some hot guys. Purely a byproduct of his support.

“You’re going to love Derek,” she told him during the aggressive conversation in which she convinced him to come to the gig. “He has that brooding thing going on that you love, all Italian looking and angry.”

So yes, he’s there a little bit to finally see Derek.

People have started yelling for the band to come out. Not chanting, just shouted obscenities, and laughing. The dreadlock girl bumps into him, and immediately apologizes. It’s getting hot, and Stiles is starting to think about leaving, when the door marked **EXIT** opens, and in steps a freaking god.

He’s ridiculously tall, skinny arms and an oversized jean vest. Stiles feels nervous just looking at him. Even the scrape on his cheek just makes him more beautiful. His hands are clutching a pair of battered drum sticks, and his hair. His hair is ridiculous. Stiles watches as he sits down behind the drums and begins fiddling with them. This guy is too soft looking to be the Derek that Erica described, but Stiles doesn’t mind one bit.

People have begun cheering, and Stiles forces himself to look at the rest of the band. Erica talks about Derek and Isaac all the time, but he’s never actually seen them. They practice in Lincoln Wood. Stiles and Erica go to school with Boyd, but Stiles hasn’t spent much time with him. He’s not surprised to see that Boyd isn’t punked up at all. He looks totally normal. He’s wearing a sweater for christ sake. And the older guy on guitar has to be Derek, who Stiles can readily admit is a hulk. Or hunk. Do guys call each other hunks? Either way, he can see why Erica thought Derek was his type. The rip on the neck of his shirt is more than enough to prove that.

But he’s no Adonis, not like the guy who has to be Isaac. Isaac, who is literally chewing on the end a drumstick and somehow it just makes him more appealing. Stiles tries not to question that.

Derek is glaring at Erica, and she seems oblivious. She’s adjusting the mic stand and making faces at the crowd. Finally they seem ready to play. Erica pulls down the hood of her oversized sweatshirt.

“This is your captain speaking,” Erica breathes into the mic. Stiles notices Boyd roll his eyes. “Just a friendly reminder that I am an epileptic queen, so flash photography is not just a sign of a hipster pussy, it will indirectly result in your death.”

“Just fucking play!” some guy yells. The microscopic crowd yells in agreement.

Erica grins. “We are Arsonistical and we really fucking suck.”

Punk connoisseur Stiles is not, but even without any frame of reference, one thing becomes immediately clear.

They really freaking suck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you just need to turn a story about werewolves into one about a bad punk band and angsty puppies. This is an idea that demanded to be written, and I've been having a lot of fun with it. I love the idea of Erica and Stiles being good friends, and the pack existing in a different context.
> 
> In the next chapter Stiles will meet the terrifying Isaac Lahey.
> 
> The title of this story is the name of a Seattle band, plus a comma. The title of this chapter is from a song by Bass Drum of Death.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	2. 15 Minutes

Stiles wants Arsonistical to be a good band. Erica is his best friend, and he knows she has a good voice. She sings “Happy Birthday” really well. And all the guys are hot, so they have the right to be good at playing instruments.

But Arsonistical really freaking sucks. Erica’s voice is ok, but it doesn’t quite line up with the music. Derek keeps making crushing dying sounds with the guitar, and as much as Stiles doesn’t want to admit it, Isaac looks scared to death to hit the drums. Boyd’s got it together, but they still sound like shit.

Some people boo, but most of them are jumping up and down anyway. The dreadlocks girl tries to hold his hands and jump with him, and Stiles lets her. He wonders if he’s missing the point, and punk music is supposed to sound bad. Or if they don’t sound bad, and it’s just the style. He’ll have to figure out a way to ask Erica without pissing her off.

He starts to get swept in the energy, even though it makes him a little nervous. People are jumping, and leaving and pushing. The music is fast and repetitive, and soon it’s almost familiar, even though is sucks. Dreadlock Girl has got her arm around him now, which frees him up to watch Isaac.

Isaac is looking around the room, not at the drums. He sometimes stops playing, then picks up again with enormous energy. Then he hits the drums softly, then starts banging on them. It’s exciting to watch. Like Isaac is just practicing and people happen to be watching him.

They play three songs, and the third one is the best. Erica’s voice gets clearer and he can understand some words.

_Burn the books and save receipts_

_Pull out your hair, hawk nosebleed seats_

It makes no sense, and Stiles is trying to piece it out while Arsonistical is leaving the stage. He waits for the crowd to thin, but a new band comes out. Erica didn’t tell him that another band was playing. There’s a guy with blue hair, and another guy who’s shirtless. It occurs to Stiles that these may be posers, like Stevo talked about in SLC Punk. But what does he know?

He feels his phone vibrate in his pocket, and is momentarily surprised that it didn’t get crushed with all the jumping. He’ll have to leave it at home next time.

 **Erica (The Boss) Reyes:** these guys ar idiots. meet us outside.

He jumps twice and elbows his way to the door. Dreadlocks Girl waves goodbye.

 

 

The world outside The Den is disappointingly calm. The sound of the next band leaks through worn brick walls, but none of the energy comes with it. A tall girl in a long ripped shirt is leaning against the building smoking, and Stiles wants to point out that it’s November, and she will probably contract hypothermia. There are two guys making out and Stiles immediately focuses on the smaller one’s wrists. They’re thick, and lightly tattooed. Maybe a snake.

“Stiles!”

They’re halfway down the block standing in a knot, Erica’s hair lit up under the streetlight. He’s pretty sure Isaac is the tall one.

“Get over here you beautiful man!”

Stiles feels like he’s going to have a panic attack.

It’s not even that the guys are hot. That admittedly is a factor, but Stiles hadn’t really thought about the fact that he’d have to talk to the guys in Erica’s band. They sucked, but they are important to Erica. And forty feet away, actually there actually waiting to meet him actually.

He was pretty sure she was lying in March when she talked about being in a punk band. She did that when they were kids, just made stuff up because it made her feel better. Freshman year she got into some band called Fried Laces, and she started talking about being in a band immediately after. Definite lie material.

It wasn’t until he met Boyd that he believed it, because Boyd didn’t seem like the kind of person who would lie for her. He was solid and quiet. Definitely possibly a bass player.

He knew plenty about these guys. He’d heard about the time Derek got a concussion at Denny’s and puked all over her shoes. Boyd was into Celtic Punk, whatever the hell that was. And Isaac….

Stiles panics because what the hell had Erica told him about Isaac? Something, definitely, but right now Stiles knows nothing except that Erica is hugging him and Isaac is two feet away.

“Hey, yeah hi,” Stiles says, trying to look at all of them at once. He takes in Derek’s spiked hair, Erica’s pupils and Boyd chewing gum. Derek talking quietly to Boyd. The pins on Isaac’s vest.

Isaac, who points right at Stiles.

“Who the fuck is this?”

He’s going to drop dead. He’s going to drop dead because this guy is impossibly pretty. Even if only gay guys think boys can be pretty—everyone would probably find Isaac pretty. Impossibly pretty and pissed that Stiles exists. Shit.

Erica grabs his arm. “This is my Stiles.”

Stiles clears his throat. “Yeah, hey hi. I’m Stiles.”

Isaac lowers his arm, and doesn’t look pissed, but doesn’t look as thrilled as Stiles would like. “What the hell is a Stiles?”

 

As it turns out, Derek is some sort of control freak. He stands right outside the Jeep and stares at them as they get in. Erica leans across Stiles to yell out the window “We’re going straight to bed, Uncle Derek!”

Derek stands right under Stiles’ window and stares up at them. “Jesus,” Stiles says. Derek’s eyes snap to him, and Stiles immediately rolls the window up. Why did Erica think he would like Derek? The guy is insane. He waits for Derek to back up, but he shows no sign of moving. “Ok,” Stiles says and carefully backs out of the parking lot.

“The only reason my parents let us do this,” Erica explains, “is because Derek talked them into it. He’s twenty four so he thinks he gets to decide when we go out after gigs. He calls my fucking mom. It’s absurd.”

“So I’m actually taking you home?”

“I guess I have _something_ of a headache and school tomorrow. Mom’s expecting me. But there’s plenty better things to do than go home.”

“Aren’t headaches a precursor for seizures?”

“Fuck you Stiles, you can suck my dick.”

Stiles hears Isaac laugh from the other side of the cab. He looks in the mirror and sees Isaac slouched against the door, tracing his finger across the window. He’s not wearing a seatbelt.

“Hey man, you should wear a seatbelt. To avoid motor crash related death, you know?”

“Are you going to crash this car?”

He’s going to die. He’s going to die because this guy’s voice is weird and almost not American and almost threatening, but not threatening enough that he isn’t completely perfect.

“I’m just saying, it reduces injury by a very wide margin. And since I see a cop right now, not using a seatbelt is illegal.”

“So is murder-suicide. Don’t crash the car.”

Friend of a friend will not do. He needs to be Isaac’s favorite person. Or his boyfriend. Preferably his boyfriend.

Erica tells him that Isaac lives in far west Beacon Hills, and proceeds to talk the entire ride. Stiles nods appropriately and continues to build the proxy personality for Isaac that he started during the show. All he knows about Isaac is he plays the drums and maybe _maybe_ Erica said he’s afraid of clowns. Maybe Stiles is making that up. Buts that and the whole murder-suicide quip is enough to go on.

He decided that Isaac played the guitar first, but liked the noise of drums and changed early on. He comes from a musical family and his dad taught him to play the drums. Isaac doesn’t watch much TV and goes on adventures with his friends and ditches class. He shops in thrift stores and likes to cook. He’s got a group of strange friends and goes to private school, not Beacon Hills High. And he is gay. He is gay and way into Erica’s attractive friend with the Jeep.

It’s been a long time since he had a crush on someone like this. Overwhelming, instant and terrifying. The last guy was the dude who delivered pizza to his neighborhood, and it was the fifth night he begged dad to order a pizza that he came out. “Dad seriously the delivery guy is hot and I’m gay so be a supportive parent and order the hot pizza guy for your son.”

Dad ordered a pizza.

The directions to Isaac’s house (provided by Erica) are starting to get specific when he gets the guts to say something to Isaac. “So does Derek call your parents too?”

“Test in the morning,” Isaac says, then is silent. He doesn’t say a word—not even a “thank you” when he gets out of the car and walks to the blue ranch house. “Bye!” Stiles shouts out the still open door and doesn’t regret it, because Isaac waves.

Erica shuts the door and buckles in to the seat Isaac vacated. She grins at Stiles.

“Shit man. I thought it was going to be Derek.”

Heat hits his face. Erica laughs. “Oh come on. You’re the most transparent guy ever. You want him.”

Isaac is still on the porch. He’s hitting the doorbell repeatedly, banging on the door. “Is it that obvious?” A man opens the door and Isaac ducks inside. Disappointing, because if he was locked out, Stiles could take him home and have a wonderful pornographic sleepover.

“Obvious? Yes. To me. Isaac wouldn’t be able to tell if you licked his face.”

 Stiles sighs and starts the car. “Is he gay at least?”

Erica opens the glove compartment and shuts it repeatedly. “Don’t know. He’s really fucked up though.”

“Excuse me, you thought _Derek,_ creepy stare-man extraordinaire, was my type.”

“ _Derek_ is a stable brand of fucked up. Isaac is chaos.”

Chaos. Stiles imagines Chaotic Isaac. Setting trash cans on fire and painting his face green. Chaos could be good. Stiles could certainly use more variety in his life.

Within a few minutes they’re in front of Erica’s house. She kisses him on the cheek and hops out of the Jeep. Before closing the door she lobs a phone at Stiles. It smacks him on the head. “ _Ow._ What the hell was that?”

“Isaac’s cell phone. Looks like you’re going to have to return it. Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

Jackpot. Jack _pot._ “I love you. I love you!”

“Don’t let him break your heart.”

Having his heart broken sounded just fine. Especially by a chaotic drummer with a scrape on cheek. That sounded freaking fantastic. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy. Thank you everyone for all your support of the first chapter. I really appreciate it. The title of this one is from the The Broadways song I listened to while writing it. Huge thanks to my girl Maeve for betaing. 
> 
> In the next chapter these boys avoid the world together. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Kings of Nowhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A 7-Eleven trip turns into a walk in the woods. Stiles is in love with Isaac's crooked fingers.

Stiles manages to wait until after school to return Isaac’s phone. After a few hours of debate before going to bed, he decided that returning it at seven in the morning would reek of desperation, but after school will be awesome. Erica was in one of her moods and wouldn’t tell him anything about Isaac except that he works in a grocery store, isn’t working after school today and his last name is Lahey.

“Don’t freak out about anything,” she says at the end of lunch. “He hates it when people freak out.”

Stiles follows her and dumps his cold macaroni into the garbage. “What do you mean? Like if he offers me a churro I can’t get excited? That’s going to be difficult. Churros are exciting.”

Erica sighs and pulls her sweatshirt hood up. It’s the same one from last night and smells horrible. “I mean if he tells you anything…shocking, don’t spaz out and ask him a million questions.”

“When have you known me to spaz out? Wait, is he a supernatural being? Should I watch out for fangs?”

“Just take your fucking Adderall.”

So yes, he takes an extra one just in case. Even though it makes him a little more jittery, and he finds himself hopping up and down while he waits for someone to come to the front door of Isaac’s house. He’s about to ring the doorbell again when a girl opens the door. She’s maybe twelve, black, and wearing a bright pink dress.

Definitely not what he was expecting.

“Who do you want?” she asks. There’s a woman’s voice inside, and she sounds sad. The girl is looking up at Stiles, waiting.

“Um, who do I want? Does…is Isaac here?”

He expects her to tell him he has the wrong house, but she just nods and disappears down the hall. Stiles sticks his head into the house and sees that the walls are light blue and lined with photos. He jumps back when Isaac and a woman appear at the end of the hallway. The woman rubs her face. She’s white too. Isaac turns to the woman and says “See?” and walks faster to the door.

Isaac is right in front of him, three feet away. Wearing the same pinned vest, and stained jeans. His hair is damp, and he’s smiling. At Stiles.

“See? This is Stiles. He’s taking me to see Allen.”

Isaac’s mom sighs and her hand flutters above Isaac’s shoulder but doesn’t touch him. “If you’re lying—”

“I’m not. This is Stiles. He’s taking me to Allen.” He looks at Stiles, who still hasn’t gotten over the fact that Isaac knows his name. “Right?”

Stiles nods. “Yep. Yeah. Sorry I’m late. I was downloading directions.” Shit, he is a _fantastic_ liar. Put a beautiful guy on the line, and he’d be robbing a bank.

The woman nods. Her hand flutters for another moment before the nods again. “Good to meet you, Stiles. Isaac, you two can hang out for two hours after your appointment,” she says. “I expect you home by seven. Eat something.” She smiles at Stiles before disappearing down the hall. Isaac pulls on a pair of stiff sneakers.

The universe has smiled upon him. All he had to do was show up and he has three hours built in to make Isaac fall in love with him. The phone wasn’t even necessary. It's freaking awesome, but probably all a lie. It's way too easy. Isaac jumps down the steps and walks ahead of Stiles to the Jeep. He opens the door and climbs in.

“Okay,” Stiles says to himself. The black girl appears at the front door again, and Stiles nods at her. She nods, like they have just made a very serious pact. “Okay.”

In the Jeep, Isaac has found Stiles’ CDs. He’s got them on his lap and is examining each one. Shit. Isaac is in a band, a punk band. He’s not going to like any of Stiles’ music. “Yeah, that’s just some old stuff,” Stiles says as he starts the car. He swallows hard.

“We’re going to 7-Eleven.”

“Didn’t your mom say—”

“My mom’s dead. That’s Debra.”

 _Don’t freak out_. Isaac said it so easily, in a way Stiles never managed. When someone asked about his mom, he always found something sarcastic to say. Half-assed. She didn’t deserve that.

He backs out of the driveway and turns right. “Mine too.” Was that casual?

Isaac glances at him, and goes back to flipping through CDs. He puts one in, and Stiles doesn’t see which. “Yeah? How’d she die?”

Stiles balks. Most people lead up to that. _Oh I’m so sorry, how old were you, that must have been rough._ “Um, ovarian cancer.” The music starts and he realizes that Isaac chose the Vanessa Carlton CD he tries to keep hidden.

“Nice.”

 _Nice?_ “So that girl…”

“Her name’s Shana. Foster sister. She’s Debra’s kid though. What the fuck is this music? It sounds like a church song.” Isaac ejects Vanessa Carlton and puts in Coldplay.

Questions are thrumming under his skin. He’s never met someone in foster care before. How did Isaac’s mom die? Why did he say “nice”? What about his dad? Is he dead too? Who’s Allen? What appointment were they skipping to go to 7-Eleven? Did he really remember Stiles’ name? Or even want to be with him? But he keeps his mouth shut, remembering Erica’s warning. 

“So…last night. You guys were really good.”

Isaac makes a face like _are you kidding me?_ “We’re shit. That was our worst gig. Don’t say shit like that, dude.”

“Aaah, ok.” Stiles doesn’t say anything after that.

By the time they get to 7-Eleven, Isaac has tried four of Stiles’ CDs before ejecting them. He doesn’t say anything mean though, or insult Stiles’ taste in music. “Oh,” he says when he notices where they are. “Good.” He jumps out of the car and Stiles follows.

It feels surreal. He’s letting Isaac take the lead, and not demanding an explanation. And Isaac isn’t providing one. Guys like Isaac are supposed to ignore awkward ugly guys like Stiles. Things like this—random convenience store trips with attractive near strangers—only happen in indie movies. But Isaac is leaning against the glass window, waiting for Stiles. He’s so freaking skinny.

This is happening.

 

Isaac pays for beef jerky, two packages of gummy bears and Mountain Dew. Stiles watches his hands as he pays. His fingers are crooked. His chewed on gray sleeve catches over his thumb.

Before he starts the Jeep, Stiles opens his Mountain Dew and Isaac tears into the gummy bears. He puts handfuls into his mouth and is still chewing when he says “Drop me off at Derek’s place.”

Stiles tries to ignore the voice in his head. _He just wanted a ride. He never wanted to hang out with you. You’re too freaking weird to be around normal people._ Stiles should have expected this. Every friend he’s had drops him, except Erica—who is too weird for anyone else to like. Normal people drop him: Jackson, Evan, RaShawn, Scott. He always fucks something up. It’s happened too often for him to get girly and upset about.

It’s best to just accept it. “Where’s Derek’s lair?”

Isaac laughs. “West Lincoln Wood. Actually, just take me to a bus stop. There’s a 4:26 one.”

Time to be brave. “No but, um, maybe we can hang out? Like because then you wouldn’t totally be lying to your Debra, you know? We could play video games at my house. I have Halo 3 so…” He waits for a laugh, or snort. _You? No way. I don’t want to hang around a spastic fairy._

“Sure. Let’s go to the woods.” Jackpot. Stiles barely stops himself from doing a fist pump. He hasn’t been to the woods since he was a kid, and Mom took him on hikes. So Isaac gives him directions, and even when it gets to the point that Stiles knows where to go, he doesn’t say anything. He wants Isaac to keep talking. Something about the way he talks makes Stiles’ heart beat faster. There’s a tinge to it, like he’s not from here. Each sentence is calm, but it sounds forced. The proxy personality he built for Isaac is falling apart. He doesn’t seem chill, just tired.

There’s nowhere to park outside the reserve, so Stiles pulls up onto the dirt. Isaac has eaten the first package of gummy bears and brings the second out of the Jeep with him. Stiles’ heart is going crazy, and he’s sure that Isaac can somehow hear it. When he jumps out of the Jeep Isaac’s phone falls out of his pocket.

“Oh yeah,” Isaac has walked away. “Hey, Isaac! I have your phone!” He walks back and scoops it up off the ground before Stiles has the chance. “Yeah, I heard Nokias are like, indestructible. No matter how many times you drop them, nothing happens. I saw this joke on the internet, that when you drop a Nokia, the ground breaks, not the phone.”

Isaac nods and heads into the woods. The ground is damp and wet seeps into Stiles’ sneakers. Isaac picks up sticks and breaks them. “Did you actually like the show?”

“Um, it was interesting. It’s not what I expected. Erica talks about your music though, how Derek writes the songs and Boyd doesn’t even like them that much, but he’s most committed. Or something. I don’t know.”

“Boyd likes Celtic punk.”

“Oh.”

They walk deep into the woods. The sky is grey, and Stiles almost wishes there was fog, to make it like a movie. Twigs snap under their feet. Stiles focuses on the bones is Isaac’s elbow and not screwing up. That means shutting up. Things are quiet for a while, until Isaac suddenly launches into a monologue that could rival Stiles on a med free day.

“Boyd likes Celtic punk, because he thinks it’s more advanced, but none of us play the fucking violin so that’s out. Derek like thrasher I think but he never talks about anything except how much we suck. I knew him first, because he was friends with Camden.”

“Who is—”

“He used to take me to shows, and they let me in even though I was fucking eleven and Camden’d just keep me in the green room. He knew everyone. These girls would be snorting coke and I was just reading Spider Man or some shit. Dad would do shit to him, because we’d come home smelling like pot and he was supposed to be taking me to a movie. So he killed himself, and Derek was all _oh poor fucking Isaac I’m going to be your brother now_ and then I hated him for a while, but Laura taught me how to play the drums. Erica is cool though, it’s good that you’re friend with her.”

 _Don’t freak out, don’t freak out._ This is what Erica meant, about Isaac saying shocking things. Like it’s nothing that he has a dead brother and witnessed drug use when Stiles still wasn’t allowed to play videogames. All Stiles has is a dead mom, and there’s probably more screwed up stuff in Isaac’s life. If this is what Isaac is telling him on the first day, what else is he going to learn? It should scare him, but he wants everything. Stiles takes a few deep breathes and resolves not to ask any questions about what Isaac just said.

“I’m gay.” It’s the only confession he has.

Isaac laughs. “Okay.”

“Since we’re telling stuff.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah.”

After that they walk in silence, except the sound of Isaac breaking sticks. Stiles isn’t used to quiet. It makes his skin itch. He plays music when he’s alone, and keeps the gunshot noises on his video games at top volume. Dad just listens to him talk when he’s home. There’s always something to say. He and Erica fight to talk over each other when they’re together. Silence hasn’t been part of his life since Mom.

But Isaac doesn’t say a word until he wants to. And Stiles follows that. Neither of them says anything when Stiles falls on their way back to the car. And Isaac pulls him up, with his crooked fingers and elbows. His skin is hot, and Stiles feels like his brain is drowning in white lights. He takes the feeling of Isaac’s arm around him and buries it deep into his lungs, where he can never accidentally breathe it out. He may never feel anything like that again.

The sky is pink when they get to the blue house. Isaac ducks and fishes out a napkin from under the seat. He pulls a mini-sharpie out of his pocket, and writes down his number. Hands it to Stiles, gets out without a word.

Stiles flattens the napkin on the steering wheel. The letters are straight hard lines. **Isaac Lahey**.

This is happening. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your support and feedback on chapter two! The title of this chapter is from Whiskey Tango's song "Meanwhile..." which can (and should) be found on their myspace page. 
> 
> I want to do a B-Side, with explorations of this universe and the supporting characters. Maybe even mixtape song lists. Would you guys be interested? What would you want to read about? Let me know in comments!


	4. All Broken Hearts We Climb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isaac calls Stiles so his foster parents won't force him to talk. He'd rather listen to Stiles. 
> 
> This chapter contains references to past child abuse and intense imagery, but no present time assault.

Shana is sitting alone at the kitchen table doing whatever math homework sixth graders do. It involves a protractor. She looks up when Isaac walks in. “You’re in trouble,” she is quick to inform him.

Isaac opens the snack cabinet and pulls out a box of Wheat Thins. “Am I?”

She stabs her notebook with the pointy end. “Yep. Mom called your doctor and found out you didn’t go your appointment.”

He pours the Wheat Thins into a bowl, then picks some out until there are twenty crackers. It’s a plastic train bowl that Debra keeps around for when little kids stay with them sometimes. (It doesn’t break.)

 “She didn’t tell you that,” he says.

(Because Debra is all about _confidentiality_ and how Isaac’s _recovery_ is private and the only time Allen will break confidence is in court so it’s all in his _best fucking interest_. She promised not to tell Shana or Lyle anything he tells them. Not that Isaac always believes her. Or tells her anything, really.)

He sits down in Lyle’s chair. Shana shrugs. “Well, she called someone and asked if you had ‘arrived’ so duh, she called your doctor. She was like ‘Oh no, I was afraid of that, oh my goodness.’ So you lied. So you’re in trouble.”

Isaac breaks one of the crackers in half and brings it to his mouth. He chews slowly. He should have known Debra would call Allen. The probably commiserated about how difficult he was. (Makes too much noise, can’t hold conversation, costs me a fucking fortune.)

“Where’s your mom, anyway? And Lyle?”

“Dad is still at work, and Mom is getting me a poster board. I have a presentation on Monday.”

“Yeah? What’s it about?” He chews the second cracker.

“Alaska. Did you that during the summer the days are way longer? It’s because it’s so north, so when the earth tilts towards the sun it’s light for longer.”

“Nice.” Shana never would have lasted in his house. She’s always forgetting things, always asking Debra to do stuff like make cupcakes for a bake sale the night before. And she cries all the time, which Dad hated. She’d be in the freezer every night.

Isaac’s heart starts beating hard and he struggles to not to swallow the food that shouldn’t be in his mouth. His brain is fucking up again, and all he can picture is Shana fighting, being dragged across the basement. He tries to make it better, replace Shana with himself to make the picture right. But it’s Shana. Braids, small hands. So small. And it hits and he can't breathe and before he can run to the sink he’s puking on the kitchen table.

“Gross!” Shana jumps back. It’s over quickly. He tries not to look at the mess, because gummy bear puke is always the worst. He closes his eyes, and retches up nothing. He can hear Shana (“Gross, gross, Isaac.”) and she’s a _kid_ and she’s not in that fucking house and she’s never even seen Dad and it’s over. Camden’s dead, the Sherriff saved him and now he has Debra.

Shana is ok.

 

Isaac puts his vest back on after he showers. He shuts the door and puts the mix Boyd gave him on the stereo. It’s his quietest CD. There’s no other kid staying with them, so he has the room to himself.

He lies down for a while and counts to ten, then twenty, then 1987. He mentally goes over the part of _NyQuil Dreams_ that he keeps fucking up so he won’t piss Derek off next time they practice. If he gets it right they’ll be fine. The grinding of the garage door opening jerks him out of it, and he sits up so fast the room falls over. Lyle or Debra is home and they’re going to want to talk.(“Don’t beat yourself up. No one expects you to be perfect.” Fuckers.)

The door doesn’t lock (“It’s not safe, baby”) so he fishes the phone out of his jeans. Debra will cream over him being social after an _incident_ and leave him alone for the rest of the night. Maybe. There’s a new message from a number he doesn’t know, and he opens it even though it’s probably a pervert.

**hey its stiles this is my number**

He can hear Lyle down the hall, and the thought of having a conversation about puking makes him hit the call button, because anyone is better than Lyle right now. Fuck. As long as he can actually manage to talk for more than two minutes. Fuck.

“Hello?” Fuck fuck cocksucker fuck. Isaac feels his throat closing. “Hello? Isaac?” (Say something or he’ll hang up.)

“Yeah.”

Stiles laughs a little, like he doesn’t get a joke. “Um…hi? Yeah. Hi.”

He finds something useful to say. “You can’t text me. But not because I don’t want you to, because you can. But you can’t because I don’t have texting on my plan and it cost a fuckton of money. So just call.”

“You pay for your cell phone?” Stile sounds surprised. That’s weird, and Isaac starts scratching his wrist, then stops when he remembers that tomorrow is Saturday and Debra is going to check his arms.

That might be footsteps in the hall, so he forces himself to talk. “Yeah. I mean, I have a job and they pay for everything else, so I pay for my phone.” Lyle is knocking on the door. Isaac swallows hard. Fuck. “Listen, I need you to talk and just keep going even if I don’t say anything. Okay?” Lyle might not believe him, and Stiles can’t hang up. It’ll fuck things up worse.

“What? Yeah, yeah ok. Um, I don’t know if you know this, but I was reading this article about video games that actually proves that with enough game time—”

Lyle knocks on the door and Isaac puts the phone under his pillow. Then he grabs it and holds it in his right hand. Stiles is still talking. “I’m on the phone,” he yells.

(And Lyle isn’t going to come in because he promised he wouldn’t come in unless Isaac said he could.)

“We need to talk, buddy.”

“I cleaned it up.” He did. Before he showered, before he did anything except stop seeing Shana in the basement. She pathetically offered to do it, but he made her leave and it should be ok. “I’m on the phone.”

The doorknob twists and Isaac jumps up so he can lean against it if he needs to. Lyle stops. “Sorry, I remember. Listen, I just want to know what happened. Are you ok?”

Fuck. He can hear Stiles from the phone, and doesn’t yell, in case Stiles can hear him. “Yes. I’m on the phone. I’m being social and I’m not doing drugs and I’m not scratching so you can fuck off because I am trying to have a conversation.”

He gives up a lot easier than Debra. Which is good. He waits until he hears Lyle shut another door before bringing the phone back to his ear. The tin of Stiles’ voice never stopped. He hasn’t hung up.

“I figure that there is some sort of mafia concerning scores in arcades, so if I beat say the high score on Dance Dance Revolution, some guy with a cape is going to jump down from the ceiling and cut off my head. I heard that people kill over video games, like this mom killed her baby because she was playing Farmville. If I had to kill someone I’d probably kill, no actually—”

Isaac holds the phone to his ear and lets Stiles talk himself into knots. He never slows down. Why can’t he be like that? Talk and not be an idiot. Stiles just goes. Isaac thinks about his Jeep, and how it smells like French fries and oranges. If he had a car he would keep it clean, but there’s lots of wrappers in Stiles’ car and that’s ok, because then he can write things down.

“—I think my dad is afraid to miss my mom. Like if he does, then it will hurt me, you know? He didn’t cry that much when she died, and I felt really bad because I was crying all the time. ”

The phone heats up in Isaac’s hand, and he is dimly aware that this is eating up half his monthly minutes. But he doesn't want Stiles to stop. He breathes and Stiles knows he’s there. He can tell. But Stiles keeps talking anyway. No one ever talks to him. They’re always asking questions or waiting for him to talk. They think they’re being respectful and he wants silence. Isaac asphyxiates on silence. He wants human noise. Someone who will give it to him, without waiting and without asking questions.

Stiles likes him. He has to, otherwise he’d have hung up by now. Someone likes him. And it’s someone good. Is he supposed to invite Stiles over? He doesn’t even know how to start. Isaac has to give him something.

“I’ve been googling you guys, and you know there’s nothing really about Arsonistical, but I found this one band called Arson by Blood and they sound really bad. Like, horrible. Worse than you guys. Not that you guys are bad. Or horrible. I don’t know, maybe I’m not wired to like this stuff.”

Count to ten. Swallow past the fist in your throat. “I can show you.”

Stiles shuts up. Isaac breathes. “What?”

 “Music. If you want. Actual punk, not the shit you find on google.” This is all he has. It’s not even his, it belongs to Camden, but Isaac isn’t good at anything else. It’s the only thing he can talk about without getting scared. Stiles will like him if he’s able to talk. Maybe enough to stay until he finds the mold.

Stiles takes it. “Yeah, yeah! Cause Erica is always talking about songs but she never actually tells me anything, and I want to know, you know? So yes. Good. Um, tomorrow?”

“Four o’clock. If you want.”

“I’ll bring gummy bears.”

 “Nice.” He’s going to be fine. Stiles will like him and he won’t fuck up. He won’t. Not as long as he can talk, and his stereo works. It’s going to be fine. It’s going to be good. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was hard to write, because Isaac's head a completely different space than Stiles'. If you notice that this chapter is stylistically different, that is to reflect his character. The title of this chapter is from the song "The Audacity of Hope" by The Arrivals.
> 
> Thank you for reading. Your feedback and support is my fuel, and I really appreciate it.


	5. I Can't Change My Name, But I Could Be Your Type

At first Stiles thinks Isaac is sitting on the porch waiting for him, but it turns out he is just smoking. Sitting on the steps holding a cigarette between two fingers. Tipping his head up and blowing blue smoke into the air. Tapping ash onto the cement. Repeat. It’s an unfortunate fetish, but that doesn’t stop Stiles from standing over Isaac and watching for a few minutes. Because he may as well enjoy it.

“Since when do you smoke?”

Isaac grinds the butt out on the cement step. “Since I was twelve.” He looks up and scowls. Stiles realizes he must look horrified. “You’ve known me for two days, man. Don’t presume to know shit about me.”

It’s true. Embarrassing, but true. Two days ago Isaac was a drummer who came through an exit door. Two days that felt like a long time, but he still doesn’t know anything. Gummy bears, dead family, crooked fingers. It’s not enough. _So tell me more,_ he wants to say. _I want to know everything._ He wants tiny and obtrusive facts that will fill the spaces between his breaths.

Stiles doesn’t apologize. Isaac isn’t annoyed, so he moves onto something else as Isaac lets them in. He tells Isaac about his morning and Dad’s tires getting slashed, but he is mostly absorbing the house. This is where Isaac lives. He wants to look around, see who’s in all the pictures on the walls and why it smells like burnt toast, but Isaac grabs his arm. And he gets distracted wondering what Isaac’s fingers look like on his skin. They pass a creepy dog statue in the kitchen, and pink folding chairs in front of a TV. He’s pulled down a narrow hall until they’re stopped in front of a closed door.

The hand drops from his arm and Isaac touches the door for a moment. “You can’t…” he starts and Stiles waits for him to finish. A couple seconds pass and Isaac seems to give up. He opens the door.

Stiles spends a lot of time imagining the things he wants to know. Like how often he’d get the shit kicked out of him if they still lived on Kentucky. Or that Scott sometimes thinks about him when he and his shiny new friends are playing video games. Thinks “Hey, maybe I shouldn’t have dropped the hyperactive queer. At least he has a car.” He imagines Dad’s cases and him saving hurt kids. The things Dad refuses to tell him.

Last night he imagined Isaac’s bedroom. He imagined ragged flyers all over the walls, and mismatched sheets. And CDs under the mattress. Isaac has written lyrics on the walls with sharpies, and band aids are stuck to his headboard. There’s probably dirty laundry shoved in a corner and blinds on the windows.

The thing about imagining is that Stiles is always wrong. Every single time.

Isaac’s room has light green walls that are empty aside from a weird looking modern art poster. Instead of mismatched sheets there are two perfectly made twin beds. He can tell which side is Isaac’s because of the folded black clothes on top of a dresser, and a few CD’s on his bed. But otherwise it doesn’t look like anyone even lives in this room.

“When did you move here?”

“Twenty five months ago.”

Okay.

Isaac sits down on the bed and picks up one of the CD’s. There’s a cow on the cover. Stiles hovers for a moment, because there isn’t a desk, and therefore no desk chair. He opts to sit on the other bed. Isaac is tapping the case with his fingernails. It’s quiet for too long.

“I didn’t think your room would look like this. Because, you know, I do this thing where I imagine what’s going to happen before it happens. It’s a curse, I swear to god. Before I got here, I thought your sister was going to open the door and laugh at me. And you wouldn’t be here.”

Isaac briefly looks up from the CD case in his hand, considering what Stiles said. “I was here, right?” Stiles feels like an idiot for sharing something as girly as his weird fantasies. Isaac is still tapping the case. “I do that sometimes,” he says. “See things that aren’t happening.”

Stiles wants to say that’s not quite what he does. But he doesn’t want to annoy Isaac. Who has jumped off the bed and put the disc in a grey stereo.

Then the music starts. Really horrible music.

Some girl is screaming, probably to be heard over the massively loud drums. Isaac is settled on the floor, bobbing his head. Like he actually likes this. What instruments are they even playing? Stiles can’t fathom why people would create music like this. It doesn’t sound good. It doesn’t make him feel good at all.

_“Feminist. Dyke whore. I’m so pretty. Alien!”_

What the fuck.

It’s awful, and Stiles wants to run across the room and yank the CD out of the stereo. But he has to like the music, because Isaac expects him to. So Stiles puts a smile on his face. Plasters it there really. Each song is worse than the one before, but Isaac is grinning and moving his head, hitting his hand of the floor. Watching how happy he is makes Stiles feel like the biggest jerk for not loving the music. Stiles can tell Isaac really wants him to, and probably if he doesn’t Isaac will drop him. Why do people even care about music so much?

After a while of the same noise Isaac looks up a Stiles, and his face morphs into absolute panic. White face “about to be hit by a car” panic. Just looking at him makes Stiles’ heart beat faster. “Are you okay?” he asks. Isaac spins and turns off the music.

“You don’t like it.”

“No I…” Isaac is looking him in this really horrifying way. This is not what he expected. “It’s kind of loud. And I don’t know why the guitar sounds like that.”

Isaac ejects the CD. He reaches onto his bed and grabs one in a clear case. “Bikini Kill…they’re not technically proficient I guess. They’re more about dismantling the patriarchy.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. Fuck.”

They go for a while, Isaac playing different CDs and Stiles admitting that he doesn’t like each one. It’s becoming increasingly evident that Stiles is never going to like any punk music. It’s all too loud, too sloppy. Life’s already really freaking hard, and noise is meant to make it better. Shouldn’t music be about hitting the right keys and sounding good?

Isaac gets more wound up every time they move onto another CD. The music changes some, getting slower and tighter. But the sound of it still makes Stiles uneasy. And Isaac begins pulling at his hair. Stiles tells him he likes the music, _this song was good_. But Isaac doesn’t believe him. Eventually he stops looking at Stiles, just changes the music over and over. He’s rubbing hard at his arm, over the thin red sleeve. The sound is violent.

It scares him.

For whatever reason, Isaac wants Stiles to like his music. It’s intense, the thought of someone putting this much effort into Stiles. Someone like Isaac, so beautiful and tough. A guy with a perfectly made bed and terrifying taste in music. It’s like the music is a test. This is so much bigger than he thought.

Stiles gets off the bed and sits next to Isaac on the floor. The CD has ended, and the silence it leaves is full and ringing. Isaac is staring at the wall. He jumps when Stiles reaches for the arm that’s rubbing, and pulls it onto his own lap.

“I don’t have a lot of girl music,” Isaac says.

Is this a joke? Has this whole thing been some elaborate way to tell Stiles that he is a girl because is gay? It didn’t feel like that. “I don’t…girl music?”

Isaac looks at right at Stiles. “Almost all the CDs in your car had girl singers. Vanessa Carlton and Sara Bareilles. I looked them up.”

Holy shit. Isaac actually put thought into this. It’s freaking awesome, except he’s still sitting there all tense and terrifying. Stiles tries explaining. “Yeah, but I don’t like them just because they’re girls. Their songs have stories. Like, _White Houses_ is about a girl losing her virginity.”

“So is _Fuck Me Fuck Me Fuck Me._ ”

“Right. But that song was so fast, and I barely understood anything. I couldn’t keep up, you know? The songs I like are slow. Well I mean, not slow. Slow-er. They give me time to feel the music.” He sounds so freaking gay.

The limp hand in his lap moves, and Isaac’s palm is on Stiles’ leg. On purpose. Like a blessing. Stiles would worship anything to keep it there. A truck stop, a purple flower.

“I want you to like me,” Isaac says.  

It’s the last thing he expected to hear. Stiles spent his entire life waiting to be rejected. He felt like he had to fight for an inch of respect. It never occurred to him that someone else could be afraid.

“I do like you. A lot. Like, seriously. You have no idea. I like you way too much,” Isaac takes his hand off Stiles’ leg and nods. “We don’t have to like the same music to like each other.”

That lands between them, and Stiles instantly feel more relaxed than he has since he saw Isaac for the first time. They like each other. Isaac likes Stiles. Stiles definitely likes Isaac. Now that it’s been said they can do something. Awesome.

The stillness lasts for a moment before Isaac is up, opening a drawer. “Let me try one more band.”

Shit.

Stiles gets up, the feeling of Isaac’s hand already fading. He looks into the drawer and sees stacks of blank discs with sharpie writing on them. Isaac has taken out a stack, and Stiles grabs one. Just to see them. No one has ever given Stiles a mix CD.

_To: Shakey Lahey. From: Candie_

_tunes for a court date_

_LISTEN TO THIS YOU PUSSY_

_Camden_

It makes Stiles lonely to think of all the people who gave these to Isaac. There have to be so many people who like him. Stiles wonders if this is why people like music, so they can measure how many people care about them in the mix CDs they get.

“Okay.” Isaac is holding a disc, and looking intently as Stiles. “Okay, this is The Dresden Dolls. I haven’t listened to it all the way through, because Kate gave it to me and I really fucking hate her. But I think it’s what you like. Stories and shit.”

They move to the floor. Not as close as they were before, but Stiles’ sneaker is literally less than a foot from Isaac’s socks. It’s awesome. And the music starts.

_“Boys wear overcoats in heat like this to keep themselves from showing”_ __

He was prepared for another horrible song, but this music makes Stiles happy. Really happy. Or maybe it’s Isaac’s foot moving to rest on top of his, but no this is _good_. It’s melodic, and he can hear all the words. Maybe even better than what he usually listens to. Stiles toes off his sneakers and his socks are on Isaac’s socks. The music is swelling and falling. Stiles can feel his heartbeat in his wrist.

 “Do you like it?” Isaac looks so hopeful, and Stiles can tell he believes him when he says yes. Yes, he really really does.

When the music lets him, Stiles talks. Not in the rambling way he usually does. Or maybe in the exact rambling way he usually does. Except it has to be different, because Isaac doesn’t look annoyed like everyone else. He is listening. And edging closer, until his knees are next to Stiles’ knees. It feels like too much, so much sweeter than anything Stiles has ever made up.

They get to a song that is just piano and quiet singing. Stiles watches Isaac’s hand playing with his jeans, pulling at them so Stiles feels the fabric push against his skin.

_“I can write a song, but I can’t sing in key. I can play the piano, but I never learned to read.”_

Piano builds, the voices build and Stiles feel magnets, ions, skin, everything in the world. He feels the beautiful guy sitting next to him, and the smell of cigarette smoke. The sadness of being so alone and not knowing what to do when you’re finally with someone.

“Is this how that music makes you feel?” he asks.

Isaac holds tighter to his jeans. “Like what?”

“Like all the cracks are closing.”

And Isaac stops moving, maybe for the first time. They breathe. He’s sure that Isaac has found his pulse, and Stiles wants his. He edges closer at the same time Stiles drops his knees, like they’re puppets that are wired together.

Isaac kisses him with warm lips and a hand behind his neck. It’s slow and quiet. The feel of Isaac’s lips fall into every inch of him like water. He’s been imagining this moment since the woods. He would lunge forward and kiss Isaac, only to be shoved away.  But the thing about imagining is that Stiles is always wrong.

He reaches out and touches Isaac’s hair, breaking away for a moment so they can see each other. Isaac’s eyes are wide. His lips are so much more amazing now that Stiles knows what they feel like. He leans forward and kisses Isaac, slowly. Dragging it out so he can feel every second.

Thoughts are falling—orange, crooked fingers, two days—but none of them hold. They’re all overpowered by Isaac’s hand on his chest. His lips breaking and meeting Stiles’ over and over. Every nerve Isaac touches turns to white light. Only one thought comes through.

This is what it feels like love music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we have liftoff. 
> 
> The lyrics in this chapter belong to Bikini Kill and The Dresden Dolls. The title of this chapter is from "Perfect Fit" by The Dresden Dolls. Which is the soundtrack of the kissing. Oh yeah.
> 
> Thank you for reading! I would love to hear your thoughts in comments. Your support and readership makes me ridiculously happy.


	6. People Talk in This Small Town

Isaac doesn’t call. Which is fine. Really. Stiles doesn’t mind that much. Sure Isaac kissed him on Saturday, but that doesn’t mean the necessarily likes him. Yes he said he’d call, but he’s probably busy. Isaac has a job and goes to the genius school in Rios Valley and really—it’s all fine. Seriously. Fine.

Even though it’s totally fine, Erica is enraged. “I knew it. I fucking knew it,” she says. She stabs her pudding cup and some girls at the next table over turn around at the sound. Erica glares at them and stabs the pudding cup one more time. “Isaac is incapable of a relationship or friendship or anything.”

Stiles continues to build his mountain of plastic forks. “What does that mean?” As far as he can tell Isaac is no less functional than him or Erica.

“He calls Boyd at three in the morning to pick him up in West Lincoln Wood. Or disappears for two weeks, then shows up expecting no one noticed. He is seriously unreliable.”

“So you don’t think he’ll call?”

Erica gives him a look like he is the most pathetic person on the planet. Maybe he is.

 

By Wednesday Stiles crosses into moping territory. And decides that moping is a hideously common virus. He creates a diagnostic criteria for moping, since there isn’t one online. Stiles is exhibiting the four main symptoms: Crankiness, increased masturbation, fixation on happier times, pathetic demeanor. Erica gets sick of it, and starts throwing Jelly Beans at Stiles’ head whenever he brings Isaac up. “This is who he is. I warned you,” she says over and over. Which just doesn’t help at all.

Dad comes to his room after dinner. Stiles closes his spreadsheet about _Moping Deliria_ and swivels his chair around. Dad’s in uniform, which means he’s going to be working for the rest of the night.

“I thought you had tonight off.”

“So did I.” Dad doesn’t elaborate. He’s been stingy with details about his job since he caught Stiles’ hacking into the arrest records database. In Stiles’ defense it was a very lonely night and his X-Box had the Red Ring of Death. And Dad’s password for everything is Caroline. What else was he supposed to do?

Dad shoves some dirty clothes off Stiles’ bed and sits down. “Do you want to tell me what’s been going on with you?”

Stiles scoffs and smiles. “What, me? I don’t know if you’re implying than I’m any less than stellar. But you could not be more wrong. Stellar is my default setting. Is something going on with you? We could talk about that.”

“Is it a…” Dad clears his throat. “Is this a guy thing? A boyfriend thing?”

Sputtering is the only option, so Stiles sputters. He glances over his shoulder to make sure the _Moping Deliria_ document has been closed. “I mean…no. I don’t know what would give you that idea.”

Dad reaches over and pulls the collar of Stiles’ shirt, revealing the fading hickey. “Jesus!” Stiles smacks his hand away. “Alright, yes it’s a guy thing. You don’t have to search my body for evidence.”

“Is it that Mahealani guy on the lacrosse team?”

Jesus. Dad’s obsession with the lacrosse team should have ended the day Stiles was kicked out. “First off, it’s disturbing that you know that. Seriously. I wouldn’t bring up your knowledge with the lacrosse team’s sexual orientation makeup. Like, ever. And there are more than two gay guys in Beacon Hills.”

Stiles ignores the way Dad’s eyebrow raises. “Who’s the third guy then?”

There’s no point in hiding this. Dad’ll just figure out on his own if Stiles doesn’t tell him. “Isaac Lahey.” And that shuts everything down. Dad, who had looked amused up until this nano-second, suddenly has his Sheriff Face on. Serious, sad and intent. “What? Dad, do you know Isaac?”

Dad is quiet for a minute. He’s searching Stiles, trying to decide if he can be trusted. Stiles sits up and keeps his hands still. He can totally be trusted. Finally Dad answers.

“I do.” Serious, sad, intent.

Whoa. He’s some sort of juvenile delinquent who is chummy with Dad. “What did he do? Dad, seriously. Is he like, a kleptomaniac?”

“Isaac hasn’t done anything.” Dad holds his hand up before Stiles gets the chance to ask all his questions. Is Isaac’s dad the cop who was shot last year? Is Isaac a narc? Can Dad show him Isaac’s permanent record? “That is all I’m going to say. The details of Isaac’s life are his to tell.”

Well fuck. “But he’s not telling me anything. We had an awesome time on Saturday, listening to music and…yeah. An awesome time was had. But he hasn’t called me. He probably wants nothing to do with me.”

A motivational speech is coming up. Stiles can see is forming, and Dad leaning towards him in preparation. It’s going to be a big one. But then a voice comes in through Dad’s radio, and Stiles knows the code means there’s been a robbery. Dad glances at Stiles before replying that he’ll be at the scene in fifteen.

He feels guilty. Dad always feels guilty. And he doesn’t have to. Stiles wants to tell him he knows he’s just doing his job. He understands. But he never finds the right time to say it.

Dad puts a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “Just be careful. You never know what to expect with kids like Isaac.” He squeezes his shoulder and gives the normal “do you homework, turn out all the lights speech” then leaves Stiles in the silent house to obsess over the phrase _Kids like Isaac._ Once he’s sure Dad isn’t coming back, he runs into his office and tries to get on the computer. And fails.

Turns out Dad’s password isn’t Caroline anymore. Which just isn’t fair.

 

At first he thinks the phone ringing is part of a dream, but it keeps ringing. And ringing. Stiles forces his eyes open. The room is pitch black aside from the blue numbers of his alarm clock. 4:07 AM. The phone rings again and Stiles knows what this is. __

The only reason people call at 4 AM is to identify a body. Dad’s body. With a lurch he falls out of bed and starts ripping through the dirty clothes to get to his phone. His body is about to fall off by the time he gets to the phone and sees who is calling.

_Isaac Lahey_

Mother fucker. Stiles hits the answer button. “ _What?_ ” Isaac is silent. “Are you serious? Are you serious right now? It’s four in the fucking morning. Are you serious? This is when you call?” He can hear heavy breathing and it goes long enough that Stiles feels guilty. Only a little. “What? Are you stuck somewhere? Is that what this is?”

Isaac gives this clamoring gasp. “I’m outside,” he says.

“Outside where? A casino? Bondage club?”

“Your house. 347 Arndell Road.”

 Stiles official feels guilty. “How are you…you’ve never been to my house before.”

“Your address is on your license. 347 Arndell Road.” Stiles doesn’t think he’s ever even taken out his wallet around Isaac, but isn’t surprised. It’s actually kind of awesome that Isaac knows. And he hates himself for thinking that. “Will you let me in?”

Of course he will. Of course he’ll let Isaac Lahey into his house, no matter what hour. Stiles knows he’s some pathetic horrible girly idiot for being happy that some jerk who didn’t call is now outside his house at four in the freaking morning. No. He’s not happy. He’s still mad, but at least now he can tell Isaac how pissed he is. Stiles yanks a shirt on and jams his feet into sneakers as he runs down the stairs. The nauseous feeling of being woken up is gone, because Isaac Lahey is outside.

Stiles stops before opening the front door. Collects his thoughts, because it’s very important that he tell Isaac that he is a dickwad and to fuck off. Or something. Taking a deep, character building breath, Stiles opens the door and turns on the porch lights.

His eyes take a minute to see Isaac, and focus on the white blur on the grass. Isaac is sitting on the front lawn, smoking. He’s wearing that jean vest, with a clean white funeral shirt underneath. He has a backpack next to him, and grabs it when Stiles walks towards him. But he doesn’t stand up.

It’s freezing out. Stiles regrets skipping pants, because his legs are already burning. So the telling off will have to be quick. He walks until he’s right in front of Isaac, who still hasn’t stood up. He’s just staring up at Stiles, blowing smoke out his nose. Jesus.

“You didn’t call.”

“I know.”

“I mean, you tell me not to call you because of your phone plan, which is a pretty crappy excuse. And then you don’t call until now. At four in the freaking morning.”

“I know.”

“What did you expect? Huh? That I’d just materialize because you called? That’s a delusion. You need to get your head checked.”

Isaac coughs a little, and lights another cigarette. Stiles tries not to stare at Isaac’s fingers, because if he stares at his crooked fingers Stiles will completely forget to be mad. Isaac coughs again. He still hasn’t stood up.

“Do you want to go to IHOP? They’re open by now.”  

Stiles closes his eyes. This isn’t what guys aren’t supposed to do. They aren’t supposed to wait around for another guy to call, then fall head over heels when he finally appears. It shouldn’t be like this. But it’s Isaac Lahey, with crooked fingers, a jean vest and some sort of super jaw. Asking if he wants to go to IHOP. At 4 AM.

He is so screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up IHOP, where Stiles learns more about Isaac. That chapter will come very quickly!
> 
> Also, super exciting! Tumblr user betafang made a [Shift Man, Shift book cover.](http://betafangs.tumblr.com/post/30455976741/this-is-an-e-book-cover-for-rudeflowers-fic) Vested Isaac and awesomeness abounds. 
> 
> Title of this chapter comes from "Leaving Me Behind" by The Gateway District.


	7. We Are The Angel Mutants

There’re hardly any cars on the road and Isaac doesn’t talk the whole ride over. Except for the vest, he’s wearing nice clothes and Stiles wonders if something bad has happened. Going to a pancake place feels too forced to be an adventure. He should be in bed, resting for the Chemistry test tomorrow. But this is happening and he can’t turn away from it.

It’s Stiles’ first time visiting a restaurant at 4 AM. The only other time he’s been outside this early was to go to the airport. When he was a kid they visited Dad’s family in Kentucky once a year. He remembers being woken up in the dark to go to the airport and the sick feeling in in skin. They got a limo once, and he sat on Mom’s lap and slept the whole time, then got mad that he missed the entire ride.

The world is weird at 4 AM. There’s a group of drunk girls at a long table and most of them have red hair. One of them throws a sausage at Isaac, who picks it and smashes it onto a table they pass. He slinks into a booth in the back, and nods at a waitress with spiked black hair and flip flops. She waves.

The waitress actually skips over to their table and grins at Isaac. “Hello my darling.”

“Hey Laura. This is Stiles.”

Stiles jumps a little at being acknowledged. Laura slaps a menu on the table. “You’re the Dresden Dolls guy. Our Isaac’s little crush.”

He looks to Isaac, who is busy unscrewing the salt shaker. “Yeah, I guess.”

Laura reaches out and taps the top of Stiles’ head with her pen. “Take care of our little lamb.”

“Go away,” Isaac says. He’s poured out the salt onto the table and is tracing straight lines with the tip of his index finger. Laura bares her teeth at him and taps his face with the pen. Isaac bats her away and then yells “Chocolate milk!” as she walks away. She flips him off.

 “She’s Derek’s sister,” Isaac says. “She’s the one who taught me how to play the drums. You can order whatever you want. Laura owes me money, so they aren’t going to charge.”

Stiles nods and opens the menu. Everything looks pretty revolting, and he’s not here to eat anyway. He’s here to know what the hell is going on. Because this isn’t normal. Even for Stiles, even for as fucked up as everyone says Isaac is. This isn’t normal. He examines a picture of waffles and plans what he’s going to say. Isaac coughs.

The drunk girls with red hair have started singing some Katy Perry song. One of them is standing on a chair, shaking her boobs. When she stops and sits down, she looks miserable. Stiles briefly wonders if this is how other people see Erica.

Laura comes back and puts Isaac’s chocolate milk on the table. “You guys ready?”

“Chocolate ice cream,” Isaac says, still playing with the salt. “Please.” Stiles notices that she never gave Isaac a menu.

She raises thin pierced eyebrows. “Seriously? You need to expand your diet.” Isaac glares at her and returns to the salt. Laura sighs and turns to Stiles. “What can I get you?” she asks in a waitress voice.

“Oh Um...” He looks down at the menu. Everything in the pictures looks horrible. Or maybe he just still feels sick from being woken up. But everyone is waiting for him to order. “Can I have chocolate chip pancakes?” Laura nods and plucks the menu from her hands and disappears to tell one of the drunk girls to get off the table.

Stiles drums his fingers on the table and watches Isaac draw a smiley face in the salt. They haven’t actually said anything to each other since they got in the jeep. So Stiles tries to launch into the character building speech, but all that comes out is nonsense crap.

“Salt is used to ward off demons. Not actual demons, or that there are actual demons. Christianity considers demons to be fallen angels, and salt kills them. Or something. I’m probably wrong about that. My mom was Jewish.”

Isaac sits up. He sweeps the salt into a little hill. “Historically, yes. I think only the Roman Catholic church believes demons are real and still performs exorcisms. This one kid stayed with Debra because his parents thought he was possessed.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No.”

Stiles takes a deep breath because _shit._ Isaac doesn’t even seem fazed, or pained to say that. It’s becoming clear that Isaac isn’t even close to anyone Stiles knows. He’s like a different species. Erica is weird, but nothing like this. And Scott was the whitest bread of white bread. Aside from being Latino. There must be more people like Isaac, shocking and impossible to read. Stiles just doesn’t know anyone. He doesn’t know how to handle someone like Isaac.

He’s never going to be ready, so he just dives in.

“I don’t get what’s going on. We go to the woods, and you call me and we, you know, kiss. It seems like you like me, but then you totally disappear. I mean, it’s been a week. We are in an IHOP and I have school tomorrow. I mean, you are awesome and hot and you have a very nice jaw. But we met six days ago. Normal people don’t do this. I don’t know what you want from me.”

Isaac blinks and tugs on the collar of his vest. Stiles can tell he’s made him uncomfortable, but it’s probably nothing compared to the _Moping Deliria_ Stiles has been dealing with for four days. He doesn’t have to feel bad about making someone uncomfortable. Even Isaac Lahey.

Still tugging on his collar, Isaac says, “I don’t…I don’t like people that often.”

He waits for more, but Isaac has gone back to the salt. Which is annoying. “That doesn’t really explain anything.”

“I like you, okay? It’s not…fuck. It’s not normal for me to like someone I just met. But I like you. You’re a nice guy, and you talk a lot sometimes. I really like that.” Isaac look up at Stiles, then quickly looks away. “Sorry I didn’t call you. I’m really bad at being human.”

Isaac looks insanely small, slouched on the table with his white shirt and jean vest. If he wants to be around Isaac or ever kiss him again, he has to say it’s okay. At this point it’s not even that he’s gorgeous or that they kissed. It’s that Stiles still doesn’t know anything. And he wants everything. He wants a person who likes him, to go on adventures with. He could do that with Isaac.

“That’s okay. I’m pretty bad at being human too.”

Isaac smiles. “Nice.”

And it’s fixed. So they talk.

The past six days had been dramatic as hell, but they haven’t actually talked. To be more accurate, Stiles has talked plenty. Isaac hasn’t. But right now he’s happy, banging his spoon against the side of the ice cream bowl and actually using facial expressions. Stiles hasn’t known Isaac for long, but he can tell this doesn’t usually happen. Hell, they even make eye contact for longer than a second at a time.

The drunk girls leave and Laura comes by again to tell Stiles he should listen to some band called Discordant, which Stiles has no intention of looking up when he gets home. She doesn’t bother them otherwise, and it’s just them as the world outside gets lighter.

He asks Isaac more about demons, and Isaac launches into the beliefs of different religions and lists off all these weird words, which turn out to all be names for demons. He’s sitting up straight and doesn’t even touch his vest. “The crazy fucking awesome thing about Abrahamic religions is that they have all this overlap in the mythology. The classifications are different, but all the versions of demons have hierarchies. In Islam, the jinn…” Isaac trails off. He takes a bite of the melting ice creams and starts tapping the bowl with his spoon. “I’ve been talking for too long.”

 “Dude, keep going. No wonder you go to the genius school. You just know this shit off the top of your head?”

Isaac shrugs and tips the bowl to get the last melted chunks of ice cream. When he takes a bite a streak of it lands on his fancy white shirt. “Hey, you got ice cream on your shirt.”

He looks at his shirt and sighs. “Fuck.” He takes the napkins Stiles holds out and starts rubbing violently at his shirt. It doesn’t seem to help, so Isaac rubs harder. “Fuck fuck cocksucker fuck. This is my only nice shirt.”

He pulls out more napkins and holds them out when the ones in Isaac’s hand begin to fall apart. “You could get it dry cleaned.”

Isaac drops the shredded napkins on the table, apparently having surrendered. “That takes too long. I’m seeing this fucking lawyer again tomorrow.” Lawyer? Stiles starts blinking like crazy because _holy shit_ , this is how he’s going to find out why Isaac knows Dad. Because if there’s a lawyer involved he has to have been arrested, and therefore know Dad.

His excitement must show, because Isaac glances at Stiles and laughs. “Jesus, Stiles. A child custody lawyer. I didn’t burn down a house or something.”

Somehow that’s disappointing. “Why do you even—do you have a baby? Are you a baby daddy?” Stiles knows he isn’t but the idea is amusing.

“No, I’m the child.” Isaac’s hand goes up to tug at the collar of his vest. He yanks hard three times. “My shitwad dad keeps trying to get custody back. So there’s going to be this trial that makes it so he has no rights to me and I don’t have go back there.”

It takes Stiles a minute to fully understand what Isaac just said. And when he does, the idea hits the back of his brain like tiny needles. He can feel Isaac’s eyes, and if he fucks this up— _don’t freak out_ —he might make Isaac angry. Or sad. Or end up alone in an IHOP.

“Um,” Stiles clears his throat. No words come because _Jesus_. What can he say? On Saturday Isaac said his whole family was dead, so he didn’t even consider any other reason for him to be in foster care. “So is your dad an alcoholic?”

Isaac raises his eyebrows. He pushes his ice cream to the side and turns around to look out the window. It has to be six by now for it to be that light. A car passes by. Isaac tugs his collar and coughs. Enough time has passed that Stiles regrets ever asking, and is about to move onto another topic when Isaac answers.

“Everyone always asks if he’s an alcoholic. You don’t have to be drunk to beat your kids. You just have to be a twisted piece of shit. And anyway,” Isaac lets go of his vest, “it’s the least important thing about me. It hardly fucking matters, I just have to talk to lawyers sometimes. There’s way better things to talk about.”

Stiles swallows hard. Don’t freak out. Just move on. “Like Islamic demons?”

“Or what we’re going to do next time.”

Even with the horrible thing he just learned still floating in the air, Stiles perks up. “Next time?”

Isaac shrugs. “I figure if we’re going to do this, we should commit. Plan and shit. Right?”

Stiles doesn’t know what this is, or even what he’s committing to. But it doesn’t matter.

“Right.”

 

Dad starts calling at 6:30, right after they leave IHOP. Pretty soon after staining his shirt Isaac decides it’s time to leave. He hugs Laura and takes the cold bacon she offers. Laura puts her hand on the top of Stiles’ head when Isaac runs back to the booth to retrieve his shoes. “Don’t fuck him up,” she says.

“I won’t.”

They both ignore his ringing phone as Stiles drives Isaac to Debra’s house, and Isaac goes back to talking about the jinn. He sounds different when he talks about it, the same way he does when they were talking about music on Saturday. He sounds happy.

“Genies are a Western appropriation of the jinn. If you do research on the supernatural shit in our media, most of it traces back for centuries but was warped by time and idiots.”

Stiles glances over at Isaac. He looks normal. “Yeah? Even stuff like vampires and werewolves?”

Isaac nods vigorously. “The spread of werewolf mythology is less clear than the jinn, but yeah. That shit is totally different on TV than in the original lore.”

“Why do you even know this?”

“Lyle has a ton of books about this stuff. I get bored.” Stiles can’t stop the hysterical laugh. “What?” Isaac asks.

“You just can’t actually be a real person. This whole 4 AM romance isn’t actually happening. It’s one of those jinn things.” This whole night or morning or whatever it was, it’s been like a movie Stiles imagined, right down to the sad secret and weird waitress. Being with Isaac is like being in the ultimate movie, just before the bad stuff happens. It’s perfect.

When they’re in front of the blue house Isaac unbuckles his seatbelt and leans over. He grins at Stiles, and touches his ear with the tips of his fingers. His phone is ringing and the sun is coming up, but Isaac Lahey is inches from his face, and all the fucked up shit in both their lives is okay right now.

The kiss happens before Stiles has time to imagine it and ends before he has time to analyze it.

Perfect. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from good old "Teenagers from Mars" by Misfits. 
> 
> The next chapter is going to take a bit more time, so if you want more "Shift Man Shift" between updates, leave me a prompt in comments and I will write do my best to write a B-Side oneshot. 
> 
> I want to thank GoddessofBirth for being such an awesome source of support in planning this story. And I want to thank all of you for reading and your continued support and feedback. Getting a comment always makes my day instantly better.


	8. I Wanna Be Happy, I Don't Wanna Be Sad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember how I said the next chapter would take a little bit longer?

Movies don’t mention how much scheduling is involved in dating. The night they met was three weeks ago, and Stiles has only seen Isaac twice since that Saturday in Isaac’s room. They went to Rios Valley once, and Stiles showed Isaac the comic book store that hosts D&D nights. Then they went to the reserve, threw rocks and made out for a while. But that was nine days ago.

Sometimes it feels like Isaac is avoiding him, but he insists that it’s just his schedule, and they’ll have more time over winter break. And Isaac does have an insane schedule. A productive day for Stiles is making is through school without a panic attack. For Isaac it’s going to the genius school and doing the genius homework, working at the grocery store and Arsonistical practice most nights. Capped off by a full twenty minutes of sleep because Isaac “just doesn’t get tired.” He’s kind of a freak.

Stiles knows that that Isaac only sleeps for twenty minutes because when his phone rings at 3:47 AM, Isaac is genuinely shocked that Stiles is asleep.

“Do you want to go back to bed?” Isaac asks sheepishly.

He fumbles to turn on turn on the lamp. Stiles is going to have to figure out how to give Isaac a specific ringtone. Even though he knows it’s more likely that Isaac is calling, he’s always going to think that an unexpected call is to inform him that Dad has been shot in the line of duty. 

“Nah it’s fine. I can talk for a bit. Last time we got interrupted.” Stiles quietly gets up and pokes his head in Dad’s room. The snoring means he’s safe. “Have you even slept?” he asks Isaac.

“Yeah. I slept after I got home from work. How was school?”

That’s a loaded question. Nothing objectively horrible happened. The bullying tapered off after middle school, so now his biggest obstacle a sociopathic Chemistry teacher. Today was bad because he saw Scott laughing with Jackson and the army of douchebags. It shouldn’t bother him. The friendship ended because of Stiles, so he doesn’t get to mope and hide out in the bathroom when there are lacrosse players in the hall. What’s the going to tell Isaac? ‘Oh my ex-best friend is happy, poor me. How’s the custody trial?’

No, Stiles doesn’t get to complain. “School? School was school. Got some learning in while being slowly poisoned.”

Isaac laughs. “Poisoned?”

“Yes, poisoned! There’s mold in the walls. Last week in Chemistry we walked around the halls to scrape for samples. It’s everywhere. Harris was all red, cause he didn’t expect to find any. And do you know where the highest concentration is? Directly surrounding my locker. I swear to god. This may be our last conversation, pretty boy. Dress nice for my funeral.”

That has Isaac laughing, and Stiles feel immense pleasure at having made him happy. “So you got something against condemned buildings? Cause if you’re cool with it, I know a way we can spend more time together.”

* * *

Isaac laughed when Stiles asked if band practice bugs Derek’s neighbors, and now he sees why. Derek doesn’t have neighbors. Because Derek lives in an abandoned laundromat on the sketchy end of West Lincoln Wood, in an area that was evacuated en mass years ago for some undisclosed reason, and now there’s nothing but empty storefronts and distant screaming. He should have brought Dad’s gun.

At least no one looks comfortable. Erica is helping Derek plug in speakers. She fake screams when she notices Stiles, but otherwise ignores him, which is about on par with her usual social skills. When they walk in Boyd is sitting on a tipped over dryer, texting. He looks up and raises his hand in acknowledgement. Isaac walks over to kick Boyd’s legs while Stiles takes inventory of the room.

All the machines are piled in one corner to make room for ratty furniture, milk crates filled with books and what looks like a microwave that caught fire. Most of the laundromat is taken up by equipment and Stiles is surprised that Derek leaves it right in front of the glass windows for anyone to notice and possibly steal. “Is there much crime around here?” he asks Isaac.

Derek is the one who answers. “Yes,” he bites off. Stiles spins around to face Derek, who looks about ready to kill him. Glaring, clenched fists, leaning menacingly—yeah, this moment definitely fits the criteria for a potential homicide. “Now pick up your backpack and get the fuck out of my house.”

“What? Why?” Stiles is so ready to get out, but he usually knows why someone wants to kill him. Someone chuckles behind him, and he can only hope it isn’t Isaac because this is seriously not funny.

Shoving cable into Erica’s arms, Derek stalks over to Stiles, only stopping when his face is barely a foot away from Stiles’. “No outsiders at practice.”

Holy shit. Stiles steps back and wipes actual spit off his face. “Yeah, I’d stay away from the term ‘outsider’ if you want to avoid being seen a cult.”

Derek steps back, smiling a little. “Fine. No romantic partners at practice. And judging by how long Isaac has been staring at your ass, I’d say you qualify.”

Stiles spins, and Isaac'a guilty face confirms that Derek hadn’t been lying. Awesome. Boyd stands up, putting himself between Derek and Stiles. “That rule was just for Kate,” Boyd says, calm as could be. “As far as you know, Stiles won’t cause any problems.”

“Hey, Kate didn’t cause problems,” Erica says from where she was still setting up cords, apparently not disturbed by the turn of events. “You fuckants thought she was a bitch.”

“She’s a sociopath!” Isaac yells. “And Stiles is awesome, you know that Erica.”

Pretty quickly Derek, Erica and Isaac fall into and all out brawl. Boyd steps back and tells Stiles, “They do this at least once a week,” before picking up his phone again. He sits down on the tipped over dryer and texts faster than Stiles could with hours of practice. For a moment Stiles wonders who he’s even texting, because Boyd’s pretty anti-social at school. But the yelling takes up most of his attention.

Erica is on Derek’s side, and Stiles is too amused to be hurt by her turning against him. It seems like she’s more upset about Kate, whoever that is, getting kicked out in the first place. Derek is defending some rule that they voted on a few months ago, banning “anyone who is fucking a band member” from coming to practice.

“We aren’t even fucking!” Isaac shouts.

And Derek replies with “Yeah, knowing you that’ll last about three more days,” which Stiles files away as something to investigate on a later date. More immediately he is a little panicked at the idea that fucking—no, actual _sex—_ might be expected.

“No one cared that Kate was with you, we cared that she is a fucking control freak!”

Erica chimes in, “Oh yeah, she wanted us to actually _play_ during practice. Kill it, it’s a witch!”

Isaac looks ready to bite Erica. “You don’t know the whole story.”

“None of you little prepubescent monsters do,” Derek growls. Rustling comes from behind him, Boyd is packing up his backpack. Even Erica peels away from the angry cluster and starts unplugging cables. Game over, apparently. “You are all children, I don’t know why I even—”

“Oh yeah, because we all came to you begging,” Isaac snarls. “You’re being a total shit, Stiles was just going to sit around and make up diseases, and you had to ruin it.” Someone hands Stiles his backpack, and he is dimly aware of Erica and Boyd leaving.

“It’s a rule,” Derek says, much calmer than he was before.

“It’s a shitty rule.”

Biggest twist of all, Derek deflates slightly and nods. “We’ll resolve this later. Seems like we aren’t practicing today” Isaac nods, and Derek pulls him into a hug that lasts longer than normal bro-hugs, and ends with Derek shoving Isaac off and telling him to “get the fuck out and do your fucking homework.”

And just like that, Isaac drags Stiles out of the laundromat, with no explanation. They were there for less than ten minutes. No one touched and instrument. And it’s all Stiles’ fault.

“Don’t worry about it,” Isaac says as they walk to the Jeep. “That’s about how ever other practice goes.”

Stile is still worried, but at least he’s closed his investigation on why Arsonistical is such an awful band. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't the extent of Derek's character, he's just having a bad day. Chapter title from a song by The Femurs. 
> 
> Thank you to Cheylock for building me up with the confidence I needed to post this. Thank you for anyone still reading after such a long update gap, I hope it won't be this long again. I really love this story, and want to complete it, not matter how long that takes.


End file.
